Broken Warriors
by Pyrzm
Summary: Post-series. The Gundam Boys were trained for war, but not for peace. This story is now at 72 chapters on Mediaminer.org. Cannot post them here due to lemons.


**NOTE FROM PYRZM: There are 19 more chapters and counting to this story (as of May 6, '04) but they are mostly NC-17, so you'll have to read them over on mediaminer.org. Sorry! Didn't want to shock anyone here.  
  
Broken Warriors: Ch. 1  
  
Transcript entry by: Dr. Thomas R. Batoosingh Outpatient Services Winner Memorial Veterans Hospital L-4 Colony  
  
Names censored for confidentiality.  
  
Subject: D M. Notes for Psychiatric Session #68 03/16/198   
  
Subject enters visibly agitated, pale, looks thinner than last week. According to medico, subject has lost eleven pounds over the past month.   
  
Chooses armchair rather than couch, as usual. Notices that I have shifted the position of the chair to under the window overlooking the garden. Repositions it against back wall, facing the door as before. Common in so many of the veterans I treat here. Subject initially sits with arms and legs crossed, foot jerking, clearly tense.  
  
Nails still painted black, and more badly gnawed than last time. Clothing different. Agreed at last session that resumption of pseudo clerical shirt had exacerbated anxiety rather than relieving it. Currently wears denim jeans-very worn, very tight, with numerous tears at legs and under seat. Has referred to them in the past as "cruising drag." Possible indication of return to compulsive promiscuous sexual behavior. Some sort of olive drab military tank-style shirt under black leather jacket, jump boots. Still wears cross pendant but has added wide braided leather choker. Possibly an attempt to cover (or call attention to?) bruising on throat. Together with more bruising on wrists, suggests return to sadomasochistic sex play.   
  
Subject aware of my scrutiny, says nothing but continues to pull at jacket sleeves, as if ashamed to have me see. More likely conscious or subconscious attempt to draw my attention to bruises. I will wait for him to initiate that discussion again. Little progress on that issue, apparently. Overall initial impression: subject in highly volital state of mind today. Consistent with recent sessions. Patient remains functional, but may be approaching some new crisis point comparable to one reached seven months ago, resulting in second suicide attempt.  
  
Transcription begins:  
  
You look tired. More nightmares?  
  
Patient M: Yeah! I told you; those fucking sleeping pills only make them worse! I get started and I can't wake up! I feel like shit.  
  
Worse than the sleep deprivation and psychotic breaks?  
  
Patient M: Well, I'm not hallucinating or hearing voices, if that's what you mean. But I don't know if it's any better, really. I don't know.  
  
Do you recall these dreams when you wake up?  
  
Patient M: Yeah, 3-D, in full color and Ultra-Dolby surroud sound. Lucky me.   
  
And?  
  
Patient M: (defensive body language. Nail biting. Plays with hair. End of braid appears to also have been chewed. This is new.) Sometimes it's the massacre. Sometimes it's Solo--dying. Sometimes it's just darkness and fire and falling and cold. But mostly-  
  
Yes?  
  
Patient M: You know. (already near tears. Confirms my impression of increased volatility.)   
  
Tell me.  
  
Patient M: (shouting) Fuck it, you know!  
  
(Brief break while subject weeps. Previous reserve is not present; sobs quite hard at several points. Outburst lasts approx. 4 minutes. When he's done I give him a glass of water.)  
  
Patient M: Thanks. Still no vodka, huh? (Usual retreat to defensive humor, covering embarrassment at loss of control.)  
  
We agreed that would be counterproductive, considering your history.  
  
Patient M: Can't blame a guy for trying, eh? Seriously, though, Doc. I haven't touched a drop in over a month. Scout's honor.  
  
Were you a Boy Scout?  
  
Patient M: Nope. But really, I'm not drinking. I don't lie, remember? And the booze doesn't mix so good with the meds ya got me on now.  
  
That's good to hear. I'm not here to blame you for anything, you know that. You do quite enough of that on your own. You've made very good progress these past few months. You will continue to make progress.   
  
Patient M: It doesn't feel like it right now.   
  
It's hard work, therapy. You're a very brave young man. Are you ready to continue now?  
  
(Subject visibly reluctant. Shifts to make wrist scars and bruises visible. Wants me see, to ask, to push. Perhaps to disapprove. Still undecided whether this behavior pattern is primarily manipulative or submissive.)  
  
You've been to one of those clubs again?  
  
Patient M: Yeah. There are a few left I'm not banned from.  
  
Does it help?  
  
Patient M: (laughs) Yeah, it helps. Just not for long.  
  
But you go back anyway. You let total strangers abuse you.  
  
Patient M: It's not abuse! It's-it's--  
  
It's all right. Take it slowly as you need to. How would you describe it?  
  
Patient M: Relief? For a little while someone makes me feel something else, so I don't have to feel all--this!  
  
It's been nearly two months since you sought this sort of release, is that right?   
  
Patient M: You're keeping track? Oh, guess that's your job, huh? Yeah, I think that's about right.  
  
Does this behavior currently include sexual contact?  
  
Patient M: You mean do I let them screw me?  
  
If you wish to put it that way. Do you let them screw you?  
  
Patient M: No.   
  
Then you remain-  
  
Patient M: A back door virgin? Yeah, sure. Got to save something for marriage, right?  
  
Is that really why you do not allow anal penetration?  
  
Patient M: I don't know. I just-- I don't know.  
  
Are you being honest?  
  
Patient M: I don't want to talk about this!  
  
Do you ever allow women to beat you or restrain you?  
  
Patient M: No.   
  
Have you decided why that is?  
  
Patient M: Yeah.  
  
And?  
  
Patient M: Why do you think?  
  
I have no idea. There could be many different reasons.  
  
Patient M: I don't swing that way, I guess.  
  
You are gay?  
  
Patient M: I guess.  
  
You don't sound very certain. The last I knew, you had not tried to have sex with a woman.  
  
Patient M: Are you gay, Doc?  
  
No, I'm not.  
  
Patient M: Have you ever tried to have sex with a guy?  
  
No, that doesn't appeal to me.  
  
Patient M: Well, then. There ya go!  
  
So you're saying that you are not attracted to women sexually?  
  
Patient M: I'm not attracted to anyone sexually.  
  
Yet you have engaged in some sexual play with men.  
  
Patient M: Yeah. Sure. Right.  
  
Is that a yes, or an evasion? Have you lied to me in past sessions?  
  
Patient M: No! Yeah, I've messed around with guys, but not-all the way. Can we change the subject, please?  
  
A few more questions. Please try to answer. Do you practice safe sex?  
  
Patient M: Yeah. No glove, no love.  
  
Have you achieved orgasm?  
  
Patient M: Jesus, Doc. What's with you today?  
  
That's an evasion.  
  
Patient M: Yeah, I guess it is.  
  
Very well, then. Do you enjoy sexual contact?  
  
Patient M: Define enjoy.  
  
That sounds like another evasion.  
  
Patient M: I'm serious. What do you mean by enjoy?  
  
Why don't you tell me what you mean.  
  
Patient M: Making me work today, aren't you? Ok, I like the physical contact. I like feeling someone touch me. That's it, ok. Pretty pathetic, but that's what I need.  
  
Yet the touching you seek out seems to be rather violent in nature.  
  
Patient M: Yeah, well, stick with what you know, I always say.  
  
You were phyically abused as a POW, weren't you?  
  
Patient M: Yeah, we've talked about that already, remember?  
  
Yes, I won't pursue that. I'm just curious as to why that sort of treatment draws you back.  
  
Patient M: Honestly Doc? I don't know. I'm telling you the truth. I don't fucking know.  
  
Can you identify what prompted this particular visit? It has been a while and you didn't really feel good about yourself after the last time. Why now, again?  
  
(Subject breaks down. Outburst lasts approx. 2 min. Subject clearly needs/wants prompting today. Potentially a good sign, but the dreams, the escalating depression and the visits to sex clubs have become a clearly patterned behavior I find increasingly disturbing, especially as subject has apparently had no normal sexual relationships at all, and was perhaps a virgin until the war's end.)  
  
Do you know why you went this time? (Patient unresponsive.) All right. How long has it been since you last heard from H?  
  
(Question precipitates third and strongest emotional outburst of the session, lasting 6 min. and quite violent at times. Subject throws several objects (tissue box, pillows, water glass, magazines. None directed at me or window.) End in fetal in chair, clutching chest/shirt, and braid in attempt at self-comfort. After some deliberation, I decide to pursue this vein of inquiry.)  
  
Have you heard from H?  
  
Patient M: No! There, happy now? That make your day? Gonna write that down on your little pad? So what, huh? Fuck him! He'd just have the address blocked like always, wouldn't he, the fucking hacker! Why does he even bother?   
  
You sound angry. Are you angry with him?  
  
Patient M: What? No! Jesus fuck, of course not! You think I'm screwed up? This kid never had a chance at anything like normal.   
  
I hear you saying that, but you still sound very angry.  
  
Patient M: (leaves chair to pace. Fidgets with hair continually as agitation increases.) I'm not angry! I don't want to be angry at him. He's my best friend, for fuck's sake! But why do it to me? Why keep writing? He doesn't tell me anything.   
  
What would you like him to tell you?  
  
Patient M: Oh, I don't know. How he is, maybe, or where he is? If I'll ever-if-(subject overcome, fighting for self control, attempting to continue.) Whether I'll ever see him again.  
  
You said something a moment ago, an interesting choice of words. You feel this is something he's doing to you intentionally? Doing it to hurt you, perhaps?  
  
Patient M: No! Fuck, aren't you listening? Clean out your damn ears, Doc! He doesn't know any better! Fuck! Fuck! (Subject extrememly frustrated, appears to be in almost physical pain.) Retarded pond snails know more about human interaction than he does! All he knows is how to survive and blow shit up and hack and cover his tracks. Shit, nobody's better at that than him. Why do you think none of us have been able to find him? Don't you think we've tried? Christ, Q and R and I have tried ever since he took off! But if he doesn't want to be found, he's not going to be found. If we can't find him with all the resources and connections we have between us, no one can. (Still pacing, chews end of braid)  
  
I have to tell you, you really do sound very angry about that.  
  
(Subject paces, no response.)   
  
These other dreams. Are they like the ones you told me about last time? H is in trouble or under attack and you can't reach him?  
  
(Affirmative nod from subject.)  
  
Would it be accurate to say that you need to see him? That you would feel safer, less angry, if you could communicate with him directly and be certain he was safe, as well?  
  
Patient M: Of course I want to see him!  
  
I understand that, but it's not what I asked. Do you need to?  
  
Patient M: (evasive) What do you mean, need?  
  
It seems to me that these bouts of depression and anxiety escalate in direct proportion to how long it's been since you have received one of these evasive email messages of his. Looking back over my notes, I see a distinct pattern. Would you like to know what I've found?  
  
(Subject returns to chair, somewhat calmer now. Feet remain on floor, but arms are crossed defensively.)  
  
Patient M: Hey, go for it.  
  
It has been my observation that these messages, as uncommunicative as they have been, give you an initial sense of relief, even joy, but that this quickly gives way to anger, which you suppress and manifest as anxiety. Then, over the next few weeks, anxiety gives way to increasing agitation and depression. During the time you've been seeing me, you have received a total of twenty-three such messages from him, the closest spacing being three weeks, the longest nearly seven weeks. Until now. It has been eleven weeks since you last reported hearing from him.   
  
Patient M: Yeah, that's right.   
  
And on no less than five occasions, when it has been more than three weeks or so, you have gone to these sex clubs and allowed men to use you roughly, even hurt you. Is that right?  
  
Patient M: (subject lapsing into sullenness, as observed before when this subject is brought up to him.) I haven't kept count, ok?  
  
And so far, one of those evenings has resulted in hospitalization.  
  
Patient M: That was an accident.   
  
According to the police report, witnesses state that you refused to utter what I believe is referred to as a "safe word." We talked about that. You were conscious, not gagged, but you did not stop the man from hurting you. The club owner called a halt, over your own protests.  
  
Patient M: I was off my head by then. I let it go too far. It wasn't the guy's fault. It was mine.   
  
I''ll let that go for now, but I'm making a note here to take this up next session.   
  
Patient M: (discomfort now manifesting as sarcasm.) Uh oh. You caught me using the f word again.  
  
Yes. You are very quick to say things are your fault. You seem to assume a lot of control over life.   
  
Patient M: Huh?  
  
In order for a situation to be your fault, you had to have the power to influence the outcome. I must tell you, that's not a realistic view in most cases, especially the situations you've described to me. But it's not uncommon, especially for children who have experienced the sort of early life trauma that you've known, to imagine that they can somehow control events, and that anything bad that happens represents a failure on their part to do so. It is not a healthy point of view. It is ultimately highly destructive, but in the short term, it can make a person feel safer, more in control. Does that make you feel safer?  
  
Patient M: I never feel safe. I haven't ever felt safe.   
  
That's not what you told me a few weeks ago. Do you remember?  
  
Patient M: (Increasingly evasive. Avoiding eye contact. Clutches braid with both hands.) No.  
  
I think you do. I think because you are angry with your friend for not contacting you, that you are blocking out what you told me because it hurts that he's not here. Please, try to remember what you said.  
  
Patient M: I don't-- (Agitation increasing. Subject chewing at a thumbnail. It bleeds before he stops.)  
  
What don't you want?  
  
Patient M: I don't want to be angry at him! I told you, he doesn't understand how normal people work!  
  
And you? Are you are normal?  
  
Patient M: Fuck, no! I mean, compared to him maybe, yeah, I guess, but-- Jesus, what was the question?  
  
You told me that under certain past circumstances, and one specific circumstance in particular, you did feel safe.  
  
Patient M: Ok, ok! I confess. I felt safe around H. I felt really safe one night when we had to sleep together. Nothing happened, OK? We just slept!   
  
I didn't say anything happened. Did someone else accuse the two of you of doing something improper?  
  
Patient M: No. No one else knows.   
  
Did you feel it was improper? You seem to have trouble talking about it.  
  
Patient M: No, I don't! Ok, yes I do. There, you happy now? I'm--It's--Shit, we were trained to be soldiers. We weren't supposed to be scared. We weren't supposed to need-- He didn't. He never did. It was just me. We killed people, enemies. We carried out missions people twice our age couldn't have handled. We piloted machines more complicated and strong than anything else out there. We did that!  
  
Yes, you did. You were remarkable young men. I'm sure you still are. Why would that preclude accepting comfort?  
  
Patient M: Oh yeah, we were real remarkable. Freaks, more like it.   
  
You seem to accept that very negative assessment more readily than my observation that you took comfort in being physically close to your friend one night when you were both exhausted and cut off from help. You were wounded, as well, weren't you?  
  
Patient M: Yeah, but it wasn't serious. H fixed me up and kept me awake and warm until the shock wore off.   
  
Yet perhaps saved your life? If you'd been alone, you could have died or been captured, as I recall.  
  
Patient M: Yeah. But we did that for each other all the time, all of us. No biggie.  
  
So you say. I'd like for you to at least consider that from the point of view of anyone who has not been a combat soldier, it was in fact a very big deal. It must have been very comforting to know that you had friends you could trust to protect you if you were hurt or needed to sleep. That's a good thing for anyone, and a very lucky thing for a soldier. It's probably why the five of you survived and came out functioning as well as most of you do. But H seems to be the person who played that role most often for you. And wasn't he also the only one whom you did not have to fight against at some point?  
  
Patient M: No, you're wrong about that. I shot him, remember?  
  
But he never shot you.  
  
Patient M: (Subject appears surprised.) Well, he did steal from me that time, but we weren't really friends then. But no, he never hurt me. Not like I did him. Jesus, I'm the only one of us ever attacked him outright like that and now I'm the only one he still writes to! How fucked in the head is that?  
  
That time you shot him you only wounded him, correct?  
  
Patient M: Four shots. I shot him in both arms and both legs.   
  
Four shots to the chest could easily have killed or crippled him. Were you such a bad shot?  
  
Patient M: Hell no! If I'd wanted him dead he'd be dead! And it wouldn't have taken more than one bullet, either! I just wanted to stop him.  
  
Under the circumstances, would it have been more advisable to kill him? As I recall, he was about to shoot a young girl, one who later turned out to be a friend and a very important political figure. Should you have killed him?  
  
Patient M: I didn't know who she was, either. And even if I had? Shit, he was just a kid. Actually, if I'd known what a perfect soldier killing machine he really is, I'd have known how crazy it was to leave him alive. But I didn't know. He was just a kid, a fucking child soldier, just like me. I didn't want to kill him.  
  
And yet with all we've just discussed, you still claim not to understand why such a boy would come to consider you a friend, someone worth keeping in touch with?  
  
Patient M: But he doesn't! Fuck, that's the problem! (Pacing again.) Keeping in touch is a holocard with a nice picture, and a note saying "Weather is here, wish you were beautiful"! Telling me where he is and what he's doing and if he's OK or sick or sad or--   
  
What do his messages say?   
  
Patient M: (Subject laughs, fights back tears, but maintains control.) "Mission ongoing. Hope you are well."  
  
Mission?  
  
Patient M: Our little joke. He thinks of everything in terms of missions. He was so fucked up by the end of the war--Jesus, you can't believe how bad. Dying a couple of times, having your brains fried by--well, that's still classified, but it was a total mindfuck. Watching friends die, or get tortured or go crazy, or be put in the position of turning on you for a while? I mean, how many suicide missions can you accept before it starts to get to you, huh? He would have died lots of times if we hadn't stopped him or put him back together after he tried, but he never thought like that. So he lived. He was ready to die.   
  
Patient M: Anyway, when he left us at the end of the war, he must have set up some goal in that thick head of his. Go see if he can survive the peace, I guess.   
  
That's what you're doing. That's what our work here is about, wouldn't you agree?  
  
Patient M: That's what we're all doing. He never expected to survive the war. The people who trained him didn't care if he did. I-- I don't think any of us expected to live. It's like being seventeen and having an actual life ahead of you is some fucking cruel joke. What are we supposed to do? Go to school and sit at a desk all day? Date some sweet thing who's never seen human guts splattered across a sidewalk? Stop ducking at every loud noise, or big shadow that passes overhead? Stop assuming that everyone who looks twice at you on the daily shuttle ride is an agent? Stop sleeping with a gun under your pillow and a knife in your boot? You want to know how many weapons I've got on me right now, Doc?   
  
Sure. How many?   
  
Patient M: Six. (Note: two small caliber handguns in jacket and jeans, one sheath knife in boot, one on right forearm in spring-loaded sheath, and two small blades and several lock picks hidden in his braid.)  
  
Very impressive. But you still don't feel safe.  
  
Patient M: But safer, Doc, safer.  
  
I thought you said a few weeks ago that some of your fellow pilots seem to be finding other ways to cope.  
  
Patient M: Well, yeah. That's right. Q and T had families of a sort to fall back on, and jobs to go back to. I guess you saw they're official, now, right? They're doing good with that, and they keep an eye on me. W is still a soldier, and he was always fine doing that. But H? He's got no one, and no clue.  
  
You don't know that for certain, do you?   
  
Patient M: What?  
  
He has been gone for more than year, with no real commuication as to what he's doing or how he's living. Perhaps he does have some relationship or support structure.  
  
Patient M: No, he doesn't.  
  
But--  
  
Patient M: No, he doesn't.   
  
OK, we'll leave that for now. But you've left out someone. What about you?  
  
Patient M: Me? Huh. I don't know. I have a job. I have a few people I consider friends. I have a social life, sort of. Hey, I've got you, right? But no, I'm not normal, either. Anyone I ever dared consider family died a lousy death, except for--  
  
Except for?  
  
Patient M: What? Oh, nothing. (Clear evasion.)  
  
I think you consider H family. It's not wrong or weak or shameful for you to wish that he had stayed with you, so you could learn how to 'survive the peace' together.   
  
Patient M: Stop it, Doc. Don't go there. (Tone is threatening now, for the first time in six months. I am suddenly aware of the weapons he carries, though he shows no sign of attacking.)  
  
Please, at least consider this. You don't have to answer right now. You can think of it and come back on Thursday with an answer, or no answer. But just consider this. Do you think you'd feel safer, even happier, if he hadn't abandoned you?   
  
Patient M: Abandoned? Oh fuck! You fucking bastard. You fucker!  
  
Subject breaks down completly. Session discontinued, but this is a significant breakthrough. Medication adjustments noted below. Sessions increased from two to three times/week.  
  
******   
  
File addendum:  
  
Patient M missed Thursday session. Following evening M admitted to psychiatric ward, following severe abuse at a local S&M club called "Brand X". Subject brought to hospital by friends Q and T, who apparently discovered him on the street near his apartment following the incident. Details currently under investigation by police. Among the belongings found with M was, rather ironically, a holocard from H. The front shows a temple scene in Kyoto, Japan, and the post mark confirms that this is where it was mailed. Dated five days previous to Brand X incident. According to the postal service, M would have received it the day of the incident, indicating that it was a direct reaction to the contents of the message.   
  
Message on back, hand-written: "Mission failed. I'm sorry. I love you, (subject's given name). I'm so sorry. Be happy, please. Love, H."   
  
The message, and the manner in which it was sent, indicate that it is most likely a suicide note. M clearly interpreted as such.   
  
Patient M currently under sedation, placed on suicide watch until further notice.   
  
Confidential note: The police allowed me to keep the holocard for him. It is before me on the desk as I dictate this. I find myself strangely moved.   
  
As noted earlier, I have had trouble maintaining objectivity with Patient M. I realize now I had unwittingly allowed myself to dislike H. From what M has told me, he sounds like a dangerously dysfunctional young man, yet he is the deepest emotional commitment of M's unhappy life. Their fellow pilots, Q, T, and W, are with M now. I have spoken with all of them. While they are certainly damaged individuals, they all share M's remarkable resilience and I find myself liking them, and being glad they are here for him.  
  
Yet for all their support, it is only this mysterious, absent H who affects M on such a deeply intimate level. I had come to resent this influence, and yet now, looking at this sad little card, with it's cramped, boyish script and halting admission of feeling, I find myself pitying him instead. "I love you." "Be happy, please." I cannot imagine the boy M described being able to grasp such feelings, much less commit them to writing. I find myself wishing I'd had this poor, broken young hero in my care. "The boy who saved the world", dying a world away from the one person he was able to care for, and who so clearly loved him in return.   
  
Perhaps, in time, M can take comfort in that final admission. But I will have to overcome my own anger at life in general and political leaders in particular before I can help him.   
  
Survive the peace, indeed.   
  
TBC 


End file.
